


Love is the Warmest Color

by cyberkogane



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Artist Keith (Voltron), Ballet Dancer Lance, Falling In Love, Happy Ending, Healing, Keith becomes Lance's safe haven, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Slow Burn, Small Town Dynamics, Some angst, all characters will show up eventually, eventual pining Lance, hints/mentions of homophobia, idk what else to tag, keith lives/works on a farm lol, lance has a rough past, lance is famous but keith is oblivious, mentions of past trauma, so does Keith, they bond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 08:26:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15703509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyberkogane/pseuds/cyberkogane
Summary: "Keith has never seen anything like this; never seen anyone likeLance.The boy moves as if he were made of water, his jumps high and his hands gentle, muscles accentuated with each twist and leap he makes through the air. It takes Keith no time at all to see the emotion spread across his face. It's raw and real, so breathtaking he feels his chest clench in a way it never really has before."(AKA: Keith works on a ranch in Maryland, living a simple life with his best friend. When they end up needing some extra money, Shiro decides to rent out one of their renovated barns, much to Keith's displeasure. Unknowing to Keith, the renter is more than he could have bargained for. Lance is a world renowned ballet dancer who seems to be running from his own past, more than content to use their barn as a dance studio and temporary safe haven. Regardless of their differences, they are drawn together and both of their worlds are turned upside down.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic/Lance's first dance was inspired by this video: [Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c-tW0CkvdDI)
> 
>    
> Here's a playlist for this fic: [Here](https://open.spotify.com/user/h95ttixcz3rzz8u6ywiudolf1/playlist/63ImHs0zCiMlfBchfmfPtI?si=eKim3B3ISemTttkAemavPA)
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry for any mistakes! Enjoy!

* * *

 

 

 _There was a radiance in the deepening sky belonging only to those nights of midsummer,_  
_brief and lovely, that whisper for a moment in time and go forever._  
  
_-Daphné du Maurier_

 

* * *

 

 

  
"You're doing _what?"_  Keith asks before turning to the coffee pot, quickly filling his mug with the warm drink.

Early mornings have never really been his favorite time of the day but they're easy now, part of a routine that keeps him balanced. And, as always, the coffee helps.

"Decided to rent the barn." Shiro shrugs and clicks around on their ancient laptop, not even bothering to glance up at Keith's confusion.

"To who?" He leans against the counter, "When? Why?"

"We need the extra cash. Adam won't be back for a few more weeks and the rainy months are always hard on our horses. I thought maybe this could help."

"Who are you renting it to?" Keith takes a sip of his coffee, scrunching his nose at the taste.

He always forgets to put in the sugar.

"Well, I put the ad in a few days ago and looked through some offers but none of them really caught my eye. A few were sketchy, one was just plain weird and one offered to just buy the whole damn ranch."

"Which-"

"Not gonna happen." Shiro finally looks up at Keith, completely serious.

He'd never sell this place and Keith knows it. The house is too precious to him and though the fields are hard work, they're his. Shiro takes pride in that.

"But you _did_ find someone, right?" Keith asks, quickly changing the subject.

"I think so. The guy seems nice enough." He turns the laptop around and Keith walks closer, reading a few lines of the rent offer.

"Lance García." Keith hums, "Got a picture?"

"Nope."

Immediately, Keith wants to grab Shiro by the shoulders and shake him. Aren't there horror movies about stuff like this? Some killer waltzes into a small town and hides out in abandoned buildings, stacking up body after body-

"It'll be fine." Shiro notices the ensuing panic on Keith's face, "If he turns out to be some major creep it'll be easy to get him outta here."

"Yeah? How do you plan to do that?"

Shiro shrugs, a playful smile falling across his lips, "I'll think of something."

 

★

 

Keith didn't always live on this ranch but he  _has_  always lived in this town. The roads wind through rural Maryland, the Appalachian mountains always a hazy backdrop in the distance. Fields of green and gold sway in the heat of summer and white snow sits heavy in the winter, always spreading in every direction. Keith would spend hours walking along trails, staring into the woods with the hope that something would happen.

But nothing exciting ever happens here. There are no breaking stories on the news unless you think the counties biggest pumpkin of autumn counts. He knows this town will always remain sleepy, that the most disruptive thing to occur was his own surprise at having found out he was adopted. His parents tried to make him feel loved and for a short while, until he was thirteen years old, he really was.

Now, every few months he'll get a missed call or voicemail. Almost always, he doesn't return them.

He never wanted to drift away from his parents. Hell, they only live twenty minutes from the ranch, a nice drive through the countryside. But the after-effects of living in a house like theirs, where love was never really unconditional, where snide comments and scathing looks followed him around for years, would make anyone want to run away. He planned it, wanted nothing more than to travel far the moment he graduated high school, uncaring of where he ended up as long as it wasn't _here_.

Luckily, he never had to go to such extremes.

Shiro had always been around, a steady rock in an otherwise toiling sea. Although he was a few years older than Keith that never stopped them from hanging out, their father's almost always dragging them along on fishing trips and weekend long camping excursions. They'd ride bikes to the lake and swim for hours, climb trees and visit the small theater in town; watch the skies turn gray with rain and play shitty video games until three in the morning.

In the end, it was Shiro that saved Keith from an otherwise rocky, dangerous life. And though fourteen year old Keith never really imagined that he'd be working and living on a ranch seven years later, he finds that he can't really complain.

It's a simple, peaceful life.

Now, he lugs bundles of hay into the horse's stalls, listening to them munch on their early dinner. Three of them are young, their coats thin and legs still a bit wobbly. They watch him curiously and usually Keith would give them a bit of attention, maybe toss them some apple treats. But today his mind is in overdrive. Completely distracted.

Eyebrows furrowed, he picks up a rake and breaks up a bit of the hay, making sure the horse gets good insulation. The air smells like honey and walnuts, familiar and comforting. Keith is sweaty but he doesn't mind, not even when a single drop slides from his temple to the hollow of his throat. He simply wipes it away and turns to close the stall, giving a soft pat on Star's nose. The horse huffs a breath but goes right back to eating, tail swishing in content.

Keith enjoys the work here. He's been taking care of these horses since he was young, since Shiro's father was alive and taught both of them how to buckle a saddle and clean a coat. He's used to waking up with the sun and letting the animals into the pastures, used to fixing fences and fiddling with trucks that neighbors bring out in hopes that he can help. There's always something to do and he likes it that way, never one to enjoy growing bored.

He puts the rake into the wheelbarrow and rolls it to an empty stall before turning on the water hose, quickly rinsing his dirty hands and arms. He splashes a bit onto his flushed face, sighing at the way it refreshes him.

It's been six days since Shiro mentioned their future tenant and Keith tries to act like it isn't a big deal. In a way, it's really not. But he won't deny that it makes him uneasy. The people who step foot on this ranch are usually vets and customers, people eager to rent the horses for treks on the trails. For so long it's just been Keith and Shiro. He'd been there for Keith throughout his high school years even while he was studying across the country, their talks something he always looked forward to.

Then, a year after Shiro got back, there was Adam.

He's a kind, quiet guy who moved back home from some upscale military aerospace program, the likes of which he keeps very quiet about. Keith was more than excited to question him about it, eyes bright with thoughts of secret missions and planets and huge rumbling engines.

 _You work on the rockets?_  He'd question nonstop, watching as Adam sat with Shiro on the couch,  _You get to fly them?_

It became a household joke that Adam was with the Men In Black, that he knew the truth about things like Area 51 and Roswell. It was lighthearted and fun, something that would run throughout the months and be brought back up when watching silly scifi movies. But slowly, Keith secretly started to believe it. Not that he would ever tell either of them that, of course.

Sighing, he turns off the hose and the light, the bulb giving a soft crack of noise from the electricity. The sky is lit with deep orange and crimson when he steps outside, sunset only half an hour away. The air is starting to cool and Keith can feel his sweat drying on his back, making his shirt stick uncomfortably to his skin.

The trek back to the house isn't as long as it feels but he's grown to like it, enjoying the evening sounds and wind. In the distance, sitting close to Keith's favorite training field, the other barn waits in silence. He wonders if they should even call it a barn now considering it's been renovated, bits and pieces added to it to make the top floor livable. There's a small kitchen and bathroom, an air conditioning unit and hardwood floors. Shiro worked hard on it, took time out of their already busy schedule to do most of it himself.

Keith supposes it's his right to rent it out now.

He walks up a small hill and listens hard for any sounds that may be out of place. He listens for the crunch of tires on rock, for a door being shut or unfamiliar voices. When the house finally comes into view he's not surprised to see a new car. It looks nice, much nicer than their old trucks, the silver shiny and obviously newly painted.

Something twists in his stomach, that old anxiety he'd suffered growing up coming back in waves. It's not that he's shy. It's not even that he's antisocial. He just has a hard time trusting people. Especially people who answer ads about living in a barn in the middle of literally nowhere.

Taking a deep breath, Keith forces himself to chill out. They need this money now that the summer months are ending. Adam's pay is withheld until he gets back from whatever top secret mission his employers sent him on and Keith knows the bills are stacked high in Shiro's bedroom. Add taking care of the horses and groceries and maintenance and they'd be sunk, completely _swamped,_ without another few hundred every month.

So, he forces himself to try this out and keep an open mind. To trust Shiro, just as he always has.

He takes his shoes off at the door and listens to the creak of the screen when he opens it, the smells of home wafting to his nose almost immediately. There is something clean in the air, like lemon and pine and fresh sheets. He breathes in the scent of a cooked meal and the autumn wax burners Shiro is currently obsessed with before finding the familiar tinge of something canine.

Kosmo barks and jumps up from his spot in the kitchen, claws pattering on the floor with little clacks. Muffled voices drift through the doorway, very quiet against the drone of some show playing on the TV in the living room.

"Hey, buddy." Keith squats and immediately rubs at Kosmo's ears, smiling at the lick he gets to his cheek.

His dog is big, looking more wolfish than any kind of domesticated pet. But he's good and protective, a calming presence in Keith's life.

"How was your day?" Keith asks, hand coming to rub underneath Kosmo's chin before the dog starts to hype himself up, tail wagging to the extreme while he tries to lick all over Keith's face.

He laughs and falls back, landing on his ass. "Okay,  _okay._ " He tries to push the dog away, "I get it. I missed you too-"

"Keith."

Shiro's voice makes him look up fast, hair falling across his face in what he knows is a ridiculous mess. It's always been thick, easy to knot, too much to handle. He meets Shiro's eyes before finally getting Kosmo under control, one arm wrapped loosely around the dog's furry shoulders.

And then, finally, he looks to the newcomer.

If Keith was expecting a serial killer, a man with a hook for a hand or some burly criminal, he couldn't have been more wrong. The guy is tall, sure. But he's also young and lean, and toned beneath a simple gray shirt and dark washed jeans.

And he's looking down at Keith as if he has two heads.

Keith quickly makes to stand and clear his throat, suddenly wanting nothing more than to hurry to his room. To shower and fall to his bed, to sleep away this first meeting before it can grow any more awkward.

Instead, he listens to Shiro introduce the guy all the while trying not to stare. Because, dammit, the guy is  _pretty_. His skin is brown and smooth, hair falling against his head in mild waves, looking as though he'd tried to straighten it but ultimately gave up. Yet, it still manages to look good. But it's his eyes that hold Keith, that make him swallow and wipe his palms on his jeans in hopes that they aren't sweaty.

He'd never thought much about the color blue. Never found it very interesting or endearing. But this guy looks as if he'd dumped the whole Caribbean into them, framed by dark lashes and a very light spread of freckles across the crests of his cheeks.

"Name's Lance." He holds out a hand, eyes drifting to the dog on the ground.

"Uh, Keith."

The handshake is quick, as if Lance wanted it to be over just as much as Keith.

"Cool." He nods and looks back to Shiro, offering him a tired smile, "If you don't mind, I'm pretty tired from the drive."

"Oh, right!" Shiro quickly moves to grab the key from the dining room table before passing it over, "Would you like us to come with you? It gets really dark when you're not near the house."

"I can manage."

"You sure? It wouldn't be a problem-"

"I said I can do it." Lance snaps, something passing over his face before he bends to pick up his bag, brushing past Keith with little care.

And just like that, Keith wishes he was gone. He almost tells him to fuck off, _almost_ grabs at his arm and forces him to his car, but Shiro places a calming hand onto his shoulder. They watch Lance step down from the porch, the light on his phone bright against the grass.

"He's tired." Shiro reasons, "Anyone would be."

"Doesn't mean he has to be rude."

"We don't know what his deal is, Keith. Unless he does something terrible, he's a guest."

Keith wants to argue. Hell, he wants to march outside and ask Lance what his problem is, maybe question why he thinks it's okay to treat practical strangers like shit.

Instead, he gives a yielding nod and follows Shiro back into the kitchen, noticing the two empty bowls sitting on the table.

"Chili?" He asks, spirits rising just a bit at the thought.

Shiro laughs and hands him a bowl, already filled to the brim with beans and meat and a bit of cheese. There's lots of things Shiro is good at. Fixing cars, training horses, long equations and making old houses look brand new. But Keith thinks, unsurprisingly, that he's best a cooking.

They eat with ease, comfortable and cozy and at peace. Outside, crickets chirp and a light wind blows through the treetops, nighttime settling in like oil on canvas. Keith sneaks a bit of bread to Kosmo and hurries to clean up, more than ready to get in bed.

Once he's showered, his head hits the pillow and he's out like a light.

 

 

★

 

 

Waking to the chirp of birds, Keith blinks against hazy light. His room is set to the East, to the sunrise and crisp wind. It flows through his open window and flutters his curtains, the soft whup of noise urging him to wake up; to start the day before he falls behind.

He groans and stretches, feeling the taut pull of his muscles. Kosmo shifts at the foot of the bed but Keith doesn't bother waking him up, knowing he'll end up following him around the house until Keith finally leaves. Already, the smell of coffee flows up the stairs accompanying a sizzle of breakfast, making Keith's stomach grumble. He brushes his teeth and dresses fast, pulling on simple jeans and a fitted white shirt before running his fingers through his hair.

Bounding down the steps, he practically runs to the kitchen. Shiro doesn't jump like he used to, more than used to Keith's silent comings and goings. He simply points at the eggs and bacon on the stove before picking up his keys, mumbling something about running to town for more paint and feed.

When he's gone, the house is quiet. It settles around Keith as he eats, old pipes creaking, shutters flapping against the morning breeze. He doesn't really like it. Growing up, there were too many silences. Too many scornful conversations that led to uneasy dinners, the likes of which made Keith want to scream and throw things instead of deal with it any longer than he already had to.

He eats fast and gets out of the house in no time, lacing up his boots before taking in a deep breath. Walking to the barn is always easier than leaving it, the daylight making it feel less like a chore. He'll leave two of the foals in their stables until noon and take the rest to their respective fields where they can eat to their hearts content.

"Wanna go for a ride today?" Keith asks Star, holding tight to her reigns.

The horse flicks her tail and Keith smirks, already reaching for her saddle before they can make it out of the door. Her coat needs a good scrub but he'll save that for later, excitement making him hurry. Once outside, he steps into the stirrup and pats Star's neck, the dark brown coat glimmering with hints of red beneath the sun.

They pass the house and take to a small path down a hill, heading toward the western woods. He eyes the barn, wondering if Lance is awake or if he's still sleeping. Not for the first time, Keith wonders why he's even here at all. He's young, probably around the same age as Keith and looks more than capable of taking care of himself.

Keith wonders if he's hiding something. Running, perhaps, from someone.

The thought doesn't sit well with him but there's not much he can do about it now.

Star walks slow and Keith tilts his head, ears pricking at something akin to music. It trickles up the hill and wraps around them both, undulating in unrecognizable tones. There are no neighbors for miles upon miles out here and Keith knows Shiro didn't leave a radio on, especially so early in the morning. The closer they get to the trail, to be barn, the louder the music gets. Until, finally, Keith knows it's definitely drifting from there.   
  
He gets down from Star and ties her rope around a strong pole, making sure it's sturdy enough to hold her weight. If Keith weren't so worried about the guy being a secret hitman, he tells himself he wouldn't be so intent to get closer. He wouldn't be nervous, brows furrowed against a bright burst of sunlight through the clouds.

The barn is very big the closer one gets and Keith is reminded of it the moment he stands outside, close enough to place a steadying hand on the wall before peak around the corner. Windows line the bottom floor, beams and insulation exposed on the ceiling. He spots a lone radio in the corner, plugged into an orange extension cord running along the wall. There's music, a quick paced piano piece, but he sees no sign of Lance.

For a moment, he considers turning back and forgetting this. He feels a bit weird about it, as if he were spying on the guy; seeming more like a creep than Keith thought Lance would be. But then the boy walks down the stairs, sporting no shirt, groin covered by almost translucent brown tights. They stop just above his knees and Keith eyes his feet, wondering what he could possibly be wearing a pair of satin slippers for.

The music fades and Lance lowers himself to the floor on his knees, head bowed until his hair falls across his eyes. Keith wonders if he should interrupt, if he should ask him if he's alright- if he needs anything.

But then a new song starts and Lance begins to move. He sways for a few seconds and runs a dark hand through his hair, eyes opening moments before he reaches upward. His entire body begins to flow in something sensual, legs strong and poised with each twist of his abdomen. Keith gulps as the music grows strong, as Lance uses the strength of his body to get to his feet in one fluid motion.

Keith has never seen anything like this; never seen anyone like _Lance._ The boy moves as if he were made of water, his jumps high and his hands gentle, muscles accentuated with each twist and leap he makes through the air. It takes Keith no time at all to see the emotion spread across his face. It's raw and _real,_ so breathtaking he feels his chest clench in a way it never really has before.

Lance gets close to the window and Keith fears he'll spot him, that he'll be caught with a face burning red. But the boy is caught up in his dance, in the music and thoughts Keith can't hope to hear.

All he can do is watch.

All he can do is remain still, eyes following each poised step and the lacing of his hands above his head, slim neck stretching back as he looks toward the ceiling. Then he is moving again, literally spinning through the air, flying and soaring and looking so beautiful Keith wonders how it's even possible.

On the last beat of the song, Lance falls to his knees, chest rising and falling with his heavy breath. His skin is damp and his hands shake, a small movement that Keith surely wouldn't notice if he wasn't staring so intently. He's frozen, eyes wide regardless of the sunbeams that now shine bright through the trees. It lights up the room, settles on Lance's face and his cheeks, accentuates the wet glisten of his eyes. 

Like a spell being broken, Keith wrenches himself away from the window. He strides up the small hill, boots slipping only once, before he reaches Star. Quick to step into the stirrup, he wrenches a leg over before settling into the saddle with shaky breaths. He doesn't look back at the barn before leading Star into the woods, onto the trail that will eventually take him to the lake. Like a kid being caught stealing cookies, he feels as if he'd done something wrong. As if he wasn't supposed to see something so personal.

 

 

★

 

 

There had been a time when Keith was unsure about himself. He was unsure about the way his eyes would follow boys through the halls at school, the way he would stare at the actor's in the old black and white films his mom liked to watch, always thinking:  _his eyes shine like stars._

He didn't know why he was thinking these things and he wasn't sure he could stop it even if he wanted to. Living in a town as small as this, there was no avoiding the rumors that would spring up. He'd heard stories about two women by Rosewood lake and he'd heard both simple distaste in the townspeople's voices as well as something close to hatred. But secretly, Keith held on to the hope that the rumors were true.

He wanted those women to be in love. To be happy, uncaring of what others thought; unafraid of the things Keith thought about daily.

Growing up, he never even imagined he'd find someone to share these thoughts with. He felt alone, trapped in a bubble, losing his breath with each passing birthday. Anger would arise in him at the taunts he would receive from kids at school and though his mom said to ignore them, it was almost always impossible. He was a kid who was hurting, who was questioning almost everything in his life, wondering if maybe that's why his birth parents never wanted him. Wondering if, somehow, they knew there was something different about him and they didn't like it.

 _Aren't you scared?_ He'd asked Shiro when they were both older, when he'd finally told Keith that he was dating a boy from Baltimore.

Shiro shook his head and placed an arm around Keith, a knowing look in his eye. _Not anymore. And one day, you won't be either._

He'd hoped Shiro was right. He'd stay up late and wait for the stars to shine, quickly finding the brightest one before sending up prayers and wishes and dreams, uncaring if there really was some deity there to listen or not. The stars were always enough for him.

Three days have passed since Keith found himself watching Lance dance. Three days since he'd felt his heart beat painfully behind his collarbones, curiosity burning behind his eyelids when he tries to sleep at night. Three days and they haven't said a single word to each other.

"Where's he from, anyway?" Keith wonders aloud.

Shiro has just gotten back from Windy Burrow Farms, negotiations for cattle quickly underway. By this time next month, they should be getting their first draft of the dairy cows and likewise, new milk to sell at the market in town.

"I think he mentioned New York." Shiro plops onto the couch beside Keith and stretches his arms above his head, prosthetic glinting in the lamp light, "Upstate or something?"

Years ago, during a bad storm, Shiro had been in an accident. The after effects left him drowning within his mind, the death that had occurred always seeming to haunt him. Even now Keith occasionally spots him drifting away, staring at the prosthetic arm with nothing short of contempt, always blaming himself for something he couldn't control.

Keith blinks, "What the hell was he doing there?"

"People live in New York, you know." Shiro laughs, "It's not another planet."

"Might as well be."

"We should go one day." Shiro suggests, "I need to get you out of these woods for a while."

"Uh, no thanks." Keith rolls his eyes and reaches for his bag of chips, lightly salted but crunchy enough to satisfy him.

Shiro laughs again and Keith can't help but smirk before trying to find a movie, remote passing over horror films and chick flicks and weird scifi action adventures-

The doorbell rings with a sharp burst of noise. Completely unexpected, Kosmo immediately jumps up, barking and growling as if some monster was planning on bursting inside. Keith looks to Shiro but the man doesn't move an inch, not even to tell him to go get it. So, with a groan, Keith makes his way around the black leather couch and into the foyer, flicking on the outside light just to be sure he can see. The door opens with a creak and Keith leans down to grab at Kosmo's collar, holding him back from doing anything rash.

"Uh, hey." Lance says breathlessly, blue eyes finding Keith's before flitting away, focusing on the living room and the bright flashes of the TV.

"Hi?" Keith lowers a hand to motion for Kosmo to be quiet, his chest fluttering at the sight of him. "What's up?"

Lance has his arms wrapped around himself, a long sweater swamping his hands. His hair is a mess and a pair of glasses sit on his nose, round and thick and very unexpected. He looks like he just woke up, like he'd practically sprinted up the hill all the way to the house.

He seems sheepish, a big difference from the snarky attitude he'd directed at them when he first arrived. Bringing a hand to his neck, he fiddles with the hair beneath his ear and smiles, "Would you mind if I came in for a bit?"

Keith wants nothing more than to send him away. To safeguard himself, to keep Lance from making him blush or stutter or remember the way his body moved in the morning light.

Instead, Keith simply nods.  
  
And with a flutter in his stomach, he steps back, letting Lance pass with a small brush of air. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any mistakes! Enjoy!

* * *

 

 

 _Look at you, glowing like a solar fire!_  
_You're something special...You're gonna rattle the stars..._  
  
_-Treasure Planet_

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Lance likes noise.

He likes music and traffic, voices rushing around him during a thunderstorm, bells ringing above doors with the coming and going of strangers. With a cacophony of sound he had little need to think and it was easier that way, better than ruminating on things he knows he can't change or control.

He doesn't know what he's doing here. In the grand scheme of things, escaping to the countryside let alone an entirely different state could be seen as desperate. Unprofessional. Cowardly. At the time, when he first saw the ad online, he didn't care. He just had to leave, to run for once in his life and get as far away as possible. It'd seemed like a good idea and maybe it still was but there's also a new trickle of doubt, a whispering thing that tells him he's fucked up for good this time. That he's only made things worse.

Lance had unpacked the night before but now, sitting on the first floor in the barn, he wishes he wouldn't have. Maybe then he could have been distracted enough to stay away from the radio. To keep himself from falling into the routine of his dance, from getting lost within it only to resurface even more distraught than before.

Outside, morning birds sing pretty little songs and Lance is trying to let go. To listen to an echo of his mother's voice, repeating over and over: _You are safe._

He lets out a loud huff of breath and stands, quickly bringing his body to a simple fifth position. He makes himself breathe deeply, hands held above his head in a way that stretches his abdomen and frees his lungs. He holds the form, waiting until he feels even the slightest burn before spinning and spinning and spinning. His legs are taut and his feet poised, muscles working to keep his upper half completely straight and still.

There is a comfort in pushing himself. Since he was a child, studying and dancing at the Altea Academy of the Arts, he's tried to surpass every single classmate. And later, when he finally entered the true competitive field of ballet, he aimed to be the very best. Not out of anger or arrogance, even if that's what it appeared to be. He simply wanted to prove himself, to show the world the depth of his emotions through something he loved.

And oh, how he loved to dance.

  
  
_**Ten Years Ago** _

 

There is nothing quite like New York City seen through a child's eyes for the first time.

Lance had flown all the way from the southern tip of Miami, where the ocean was blue and the sun bright, hot and loving on his brown skin. With only his mother by his side it hadn't really sunk in that when she left he wouldn't be going back with her. But for the moment, all thoughts of bittersweet partings were far from his mind.

Outside of the plane window, the city rose like a sea of concrete and steel. His blue eyes were wide and his gap toothed smile full of excitement, his dreams getting closer and closer by the minute.

"Mom!" He'd practically jumped in his seat, brown hair a floppy mess on his head, "Mom, look at that!"

She leaned over him, bringing with her the smell of home: warmth and fruit, a little spice that always seemed to tickle at his nose.

"You'll be down there soon." She smiled, though it was wistful, "Are you ready?"

He'd nodded and grabbed her hand, watching as the clouds dispersed until all of the city was clear. In the evening dusk, he saw thousands of lights bloom from buildings and cars, reflecting the sky in a way that took his breath from his lungs. They'd traveled to their hotel and all was magical, all was new and Lance was not afraid. The first two days were fun, full of exploration and much needed time spent between mother and son. Especially now that Lance would be away from home for so long.

"This is where the heroes would zoom in and save the day!" He'd skipped beside his mom on the way to his appointment with the dean of Altea, "Explosions would rock the sky and aliens would invade and the hero would keep us safe-"

"Lance." His mom had ruffled his hair, "Quiet, now. We're almost there."

Altea rose like a living thing. The walls were tall and bricked, looking ancient compared to the industrialization spread around it. Gates protected the grounds and though Lance was meant to be serious, he couldn't stop himself from thinking he was walking into a _castle_ instead of a school. The halls were pristine, huge portraits of famous Alumni supported by frames of dark wood and polished gold. Their footsteps echoed and Lance held his mom's hand tight, little fingers squeezing and never really wanting to let go.

Lance doesn't know what he was expecting of the dean. Maybe someone with a scathing eye, someone intimidating and stern and completely neutral to the whims of children. He pictured an office made like those in the movies, where a fuzzy faced man sat with a cigar hanging from his mouth. 

Instead, the first thing Lance noticed was that the office was very warm. Cozy against an early autumn, a large fireplace crackled in the corner, tall shelves lined with awards and certificates and thick books. Lance had been careful when sitting in one of the brown leather chairs, worried that he would somehow mess it up. That he would get in trouble for placing his sweaty fingers against the expensive material. 

"Lance." The dean had smiled at him and held out a hand, expecting the ten year old to take it, "My name is Alfor. It's so good you've decided to join the ranks of our school."

"Th-thanks." Lance stared up at him, "I like it a lot."

Alfor laughed and looked back at Lance's mom, already diving into the details of Lance's teachings. He heard bits and pieces about class times and a code of ethics, the height they hold all of their students to and when holiday breaks start and end. He eyed a picture on Alfor's desk, noticing an older woman with thick brown hair and younger girl, her own hair long and thickly curled. Looking back at Alfor, even Lance could tell he and the child were related. His skin was dark brown and though his hair was graying, he looked very kind. He reminded Lance, subtly, of his own father working back in Miami.

Throughout his adolescence and teenage years, Lance came to find Altea to be a second home. It was one that pushed him, that made him want to scream at the top of his lungs but also left him bragging, his uniform worn with pride when he ventured into the city.

The classes themselves were extremely difficult. While many other students focused on a specific instrument or the range of their voices, Lance was bombarded with dance. The history of dance, the origins of specific sequences, the way the body reacts to vibration and the way he must take care of it to perform at his peak; all important no matter his struggles. He was smart but he'd never been very interested in writing things down, always finding it harder than other kids to sit still and focus.

But when he actually got to _dance_ , anyone watching could see why he was accepted into such a prestigious school even though he was so very young.

He flourished. He shined. And by the time he was eighteen, he was a star.

 

 

★

 

Even now, as he spins through the unfamiliar barn, he can feel all of his feelings spilling like a tidal wave. There's no doubt he's always had to push his emotions down, unsure of why they tended to be so extreme. He just knows that they  _are._  If it were a scale he would be the tipping point, surpassing all levels until he's overflowing and spilling and coming completely undone.

In the city it was easy to distract himself. He could spend sunrise to sundown on his feet, working his core and practicing for the next performance and tour. Or, when he wasn't working, he could simply sit on his balcony and watch the city lights, twinkling and glimmering like thousands of diamonds.

Here, there is only the wind.

It blows through his hair the moment he stops, the open windows giving a small reprieve to the sweat starting to build along his body. He takes deep, steadying breaths and looks toward the house in the distance, wondering if he should apologize. The man, Shiro, had been nothing but polite. Kind, even.

And Lance snapped. He displayed his anxiety and sadness in a way that screamed inner-city vanity, probably putting an image into their heads of a pompous boy with no sympathy. Growing up in the Academy, Lance can admit he tried to act the part on occasion. He tried to fit in with the other boys, tried to win over all the girls, managed to piss more than a few people off.

Sighing, he turns away from the house and shuts the radio off, the silence that takes over almost too much all at once. He walks back upstairs, suddenly very intent on getting clean and then getting the hell out of this barn. 

 

★

 

Lance could write a book about the differences between New York and Maryland. He drives along the twisty roads and listens to his GPS, knowing it shouldn't be that hard to find the small town of Rosewood. The forest expands on either side of him with only the occasional pasture to give a slight break. He glances at it each time, excited to see the animals kept within the fences.

Cows munch and goats sleep, mules spread out to ward off predators while bulls are accompanied by white cranes. He glances at one now, managing a smile before the sight gets overtaken by more trees. It's not too long of a ride into town and when he finally sees the first building, he can't help but think it's rather cute. Each business is personalized, signs hanging with varying colors and fonts and small images. There's an ice cream parlor named Rosie's Delights and tiny clothing shops and one rather interesting looking antique store.

It's not very big but Lance finds it charming, not at all as scary as he thought it would be. In his mind, regardless of his stubborn desperation to move into the barn, he'd imagined the town would be ready with pitch forks. Call it an almost delusional paranoia but he's not the only one that worries about places like this.

 _Rosewood?_   Hunk had asked him over the phone, voice full of worry, _I looked it up. It's way small, dude. Scary small. You know you're welcome here, especially with all that's happened-_

Lance shakes his head and drives past a church before parking across the street. He wonders how much time he can waste wandering around. Surely he could stare at antiques and cute clothes until finding the grocery store. The barn has a small fridge, perfect for junk food and his energy drinks. Regardless of his dancing, of his discipline while on tour, there's no denying his disastrous temptations. There's sweets and chips, caffeine filled cans of muck; all a testament to things he deprives himself of for weeks upon weeks.

Now that he's walking around, he realizes he's really not used to having so much free time. Growing up, after leaving his own seaside city for the wonders of New York, he had to situate to a new routine very fast. There was no time to sleep in, no time to stay up late and play in the yard with his best friend; no more time to be an actual kid. Most nights were lonely and the days were long, all of his dreams having come true even if he'd never felt so tired in all of his young life.

Every dancer knows that their career will be shorter than most others. But Lance likes to think that he has a long way to go considering he's only twenty-one. The thought, however, makes him bite at his lips. It's a nervous tic, a habit that's always been there but has definitely gotten worse within the past year. With the chaos that swamped him, pulled him under before he could catch his breath. 

"Excuse me!"

Lance jumps at the voice, eyes going wide before they focus on a young girl. He feels himself relax just a smidgen, hands losing just enough tension to keep from pressing crescent-shapes into his palms.

"Yes?" He asks the moment she stops in front of him, breath leaving in quick pants.

It looks as if she ran, her brown hair either wind blown or generally very messy. 

"You're-" She wipes at her forehead, "you're Lance García, right?"

He winces, "Yep."

She beams and pushes her glasses further up the bridge of her nose, "Weird seeing you here. Not to say you can't come here but it's just, I was walking to my dad's shop and all of a sudden I see you? And I'm like, no way that can't be-"

"It is." He tries for a smile, "I'm just on a little vacation."

She raises a brow, probably wondering what the hell a world renowned ballet dancer would see in a town like this.

"Well, this is pretty cool." She whips out a card and hands it over, "I know you probably came here to _not_ be recognized huh? I won't ask for an autograph or anything. Just uh, if you ever need something fixed you can head to that address. Computers, phone's, any kinda tech, we got your back."

Lance smirks in earnest now, bemused by her energy.

"Cool." He nods, "But you wouldn't mind not saying anything about this, right? About me being here?"

She makes a motion as if she were zipping her lips and it's reassuring, calming his nerves in huge lengths.

"Anyway, I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing now." She starts to back away, "Can't believe you're here, my little cousin is _obsessed_ with you. He's not here but I won't tell him you are. Even though I want to. But I wont. Definitely come by the shop if you want, though. You might see something you like!"

And with that she's turning around, rushing across the street with heavy sways of her green backpack. He watches her round the corner, brows raised from the ramble that spilled from her lips, before looking down at the card. He smirks at the little image of some kind of robot on the corner, a goofy smile spread on it's automaton face. There's a number and an address, the back listing all of their specializations in tiny font.

Lance can't help but wonder how the hell they're still open in a place like this. Looking around he sees more older people than young, the latter probably spending the last few weeks of summer far, far away. He pockets the card and moves on, looking into shop windows and stopping to pet a small dog, his leash wrapped tight around a light post. He thinks of the dog at Shiro's house. Big as he is, Lance knows he'd become attached if he spent too much time around him.

That being said, Lance doesn't want to get attached to _any_ of them. He knows that it's a possibility, that his yearning for companionship will pick at him until he caves. That's how it always happens. And, ironically, that's how he always ends up alone.

 

★

 

"I'm fine, mom." Lance lays on the bed in the loft two nights later, eyeing the white paint on the wooden ceiling, "It feels good here. Fresh."

"You could just come home, baby." She sounds sad, "You don't have to hide away like this."

He shrugs even though she can't see it, "I heard that it's good for people to hide sometimes." She laughs, a noise that settles like a balm on his heart before he continues, "Besides, in November I'll be back in New York. I'll fly all of you up to see me."

"I'd love that." She sighs in his hear and he can hear her turning on the stove, practically smelling her famous Ropa Vieja, "Your siblings would love to see you. We miss you."

"I miss you too." He rolls onto his stomach, ignoring the little jabs of hunger in his stomach.

Calls like this, with his mom or sister or best friend, have kept him sane during his lowest moments. They say their goodbyes and _I love you's_ and Lance ends the call with a small smile, face pushed against the soft sheets. They smell clean and he's grateful, more than surprised by how nice the barn actually is.

He has a big bed near a pretty little window and though the floor creaks, he knows it'll remain warm the colder the months get. There's a lamp that gives off a nice orange glow and there's a dark mahogany desk beside a small rack meant for clothes. It's more than enough space for his sparse packing. Already, his cosmetics are splayed out on the dresser and he debates putting on a mask, on walking downstairs to the tub and the pretty white tiles, everything tidy and clean and surprisingly cozy against the backdrop of the mountains.

Instead, he wanders over to the small fridge in the corner and opens it, eyeing everything he knows he shouldn't really eat but not finding the strength to care. He squats and picks up a small carton of strawberry ice cream, mouth already starting to water. Quickly opening it, he's intent on eating almost all of it in one sitting, scarfing it down as if he didn't eat a rather large lunch. Then he realizes, with nothing short of horror, that he forgot the most essential thing. The one thing that he repeatedly told himself _not_ to forget but since he'd been saving this ice cream, he managed to leave behind anyway.

A fucking spoon.

He groans and lays back on the floor, debating the use of his fingers. He could scoop it out, right? Just eat it straight from his hand?

The thought is less than appetizing.

For the last few days he's prided himself on not needing the two men at the top of the hill. He'd drive past the house and ignore Shiro waving from the porch even if it made him feel extremely guilty. And there was no way he could talk to the other one. The one that Lance had seen and thought, almost immediately, _oh no._ Because Keith, as distant and quiet as he seems, is _distracting._

Lance tried very hard not to glance at him from the barn, at the way he would train his horse with careful flashes of a soft felt whip. The horse needed exercise, Lance knew that much at least, and it seems that Keith is more than prepared to help. Lance felt a bit creepy from his position at the loft window the first time he spotted Keith in the field and he only felt even creepier when he couldn't stop staring.

Now, his cheeks burn as if he'd been caught. He hadn't, right? There was no way the guy could see him from way up here, not with the sunlight in his eyes and dirt spraying into the air. Right?

Lance glances down at the ice cream and feels his cheeks tingle, the craving growing more and more intense the longer he waits.

"Fine." He mumbles, glaring at the ice cream as if it were forcing him to leave before he places it back inside the freezer.

He shoves on his sneakers and favorite hoodie, the length covering the dark tights sitting snug on his legs. For a moment he debates putting his contacts in, forgoing his dorky glasses and-

 _What's the point?_ He thinks, cutting the thought off completely. 

He isn't trying to impress anybody.

With a nod of faux confidence, he opens the door to the barn and begins his trek uphill, feeling the brisk wind play with the hair on the nape of his neck. The night is extremely dark and though he wishes it were calming, it instead settles on his shoulders like a pair of hands. Hands that he'd rather brush away, the feeling of eyes on his back making his breath hitch and his legs shake.

He isn't afraid of the dark. He's simply afraid of what rests within it, what it hides.

After another minute of almost paralyzing fear, Lance begins to sprint. He runs up with hill and uses his hands as leverage when he manages to slip, sneakers digging into a soft patch of dirt. But, _finally,_ he arrives on the porch. Lights are on inside and he can hear muffled voices, laughter and something so light he feels intense longing pierce his solar plexus. He knows he's intruding. Self-inviting.

And yet, he knocks anyway. Their dog barks immediately but Lance welcomes the sound. It's protective and familiar and safe. 

When Keith opens the door, Lance is seconds away from plowing into him, eager to get the haunting feeling off of his back. 

"Uh, hey." He meets Keith's eye and immediately looks away, willing his face to remain as passive as possible.

Whether or not it works, Keith lets him in anyway.

"Are you alright?" Shiro asks, turning to watch as Lance stands awkwardly in the foyer.

"Totally." Lance bites at his lip, "Just uh, needed something."

"Yeah?" Keith walks past him and plops onto the couch, dark eyes finding Lance's and not moving away again.

"Yeah." Lance nods, "A spoon."

Shiro lets out a little laugh and gets up, groaning a bit when he rises. He tells Lance to take a seat and nods toward the couch, the absolute last place he wants to go. But Lance forces himself to move, to take a seat and bring his knees to his chest, arms wrapping around his calves in a form of self-preservation.

Keith glances at him before shoving some chips into his mouth, trying to find something to watch on the TV.

"That's a good one." Lance nods toward the screen, at the title of _Treasure Planet._

Keith scoffs, "It's a cartoon."

"So? It's a good one."

"Doubt it."

"Well you've obviously never seen it. It has space pirates and aliens and adventure." Lance rolls his eyes and turns his head until his cheek is resting on his arm, avoiding Keith's questioning gaze, "Cool stuff."

"Lance?" Shiro calls from the kitchen, "What were you needing the spoon for again?"

"Ice cream." Lance calls back, hoping it's alright. "Strawberry."  
  
He winces at the unneeded addition.

Shiro waltzes back in moments later and Lance makes to stand, knowing he's probably already overstayed his welcome. But Shiro simply sits next to him, the couch shifting with his weight. He nudges Lance's arm and urges him to take the bowl, filled to the rim vanilla pecan ice cream.

"Sorry it's not strawberry but it's still really good." Shiro smiles, "Hope it's alright."

"Uh, yeah of course!" Lance quickly takes the bowl, hands still covered by his overly long sleeves, "Thanks."

"None for me?" Keith asks and Lance almost laughs, only managing to keep it down because of his own surprise that he'd wanted to laugh at all. 

When he looks over at Keith, the boy is _pouting._

Shiro rolls his eyes and brings his own spoonful to his mouth, "You live here, you know where it is. Go get some."

Lance hides his smile by tasting the ice cream, the mixture of sweet and salt a welcoming taste. Keith grumbles something beneath his breath but goes anyway, returning a bit too fast for Lance to think he didn't just leave the entire carton on the counter to melt. Lance watches him for a moment, noticing the way his long dark hair sits prettily against his neck. His face is splotched with red and there's a small mole on his cheek, just beneath his left eye. Something flutters in Lance's stomach, something that he hasn't felt for quite some time. Sure, he'd been interested in girls and boys and he's dated a few for lengthy periods of time. But it was a passing thing, an infatuation and need for attention that never left him satisfied. He shifts when the movie starts and finally starts to eat more ice cream, something new soon taking place of any unwanted butterflies in his guts.

It's surreal, his sitting here with two practical strangers. But he decides to flow with it, to accept this chance to feel safe and maybe, if he tries hard enough, to pretend that he's made new friends. 

He smiles again and only looks up when the opening music begins, the soundtrack so nostalgic and unexpected it almost makes him gasp. _Treasure Planet_ starts just as he remembers, the sight of deep space an array of colors and stars. Lance perks up almost immediately and though he refuses to look at Keith again, he can feel him glance over. Throughout the entire movie, he can feel him stare. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos <3 They always keep me motivated.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hey on my tumblr [sunshinebf](https://starshinebf.tumblr.com/)


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